the wedding (pt. 2)

“I’m going to eat you alive,” he says with the utmost seriousness, sleep-gravel still in his voice.

“I’m going to turn you to stone and put you in the garden,” I respond gravely.

“I’m going to gnaw on your collar bones like a rabid dog.”

“I’m going to melt you into a puddle and suck you up through a straw.”

“I’m going to turn you into a toad and let you give me warts.”

“I’m going to sharpen you like a pencil and carve your name into my body.”

“I’m going to open up your chest and kiss your heart,” he says.

He always wins this game. I guess it’s because he’s a professional songwriter; I call him the Jeff Buckley to my Joanna Newsom. We met only six months ago but we both knew immediately that we were an inevitable and glorious collision. All of our moments in solitude were spent tumbling towards each other unconsciously.

He presses a gentle kiss to my temple and rolls to the edge of the bed to go make our morning tea and bagels. The wedding is tomorrow and I can’t wait to dance.

the wedding (pt. 1)

I always awaken before Orpheus in the mornings, staring at his back until I grow impatient and summon one of my vines to tickle him. As he lays on his side, the space inside his visible ear is round and hollow like the womb of a small animal. A stroke of daylight flows through the window, highlighting the ridges of the two muscles on either side of his spine. Helios has been getting up earlier and earlier, signaling the transition from spring to summer.

The wedding is tomorrow. Orpheus and I have always wanted to marry in this liminal time; we both thrive in the pregnant potential of a changing season. Our friends–the flora and fauna, his musicians and my dryads–will be attending as well as the gods and goddesses. I especially can’t wait to see Persephone upon her return to Earth. We can’t even contact each other for half the year. Turns out there’s no signal in the Underworld.

Orpheus’s lyres begin to hum quiet harmonies and my orchids roll their necks, yawning with tiny mouths. It’s time to wake up. A vine from the hanging jasmine plant slowly meanders over and sneaks into his ear. He jolts upright with a yelp, clutching his head while I laugh wildly. Our apartment is small but overflowing with different kinds of music.

what's going on??!

calm down, calm down, i'm just starting a blog. i'll be posting one piece of my writing once a week until i run out of work and have to resort to my first ever story, "Joe the Fish." actually, maybe you should look forward to that. i dictated it to my sister in my early years and it does include Word-Art, which you may find enticing. thanks for checking out my site!